


Hiding Place

by redeyedwrath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 23:44:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6304846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeyedwrath/pseuds/redeyedwrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has a spot, <i>his</i> spot, a hiding place between the stars and the people. Derek just keeps showing up, and Stiles lets him.</p><p>Or, in which Derek's a mystery and Stiles is a mess</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hiding Place

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So this is my first Sterek fic and I'm really excited ^^ Thanks to [pamoonblackbird](http://pamoonblackbird.tumblr.com) and [fluffygayprince](http://fluffygayprince.tumblr.com) for betaing!
> 
>  **Quick disclaimer:** English isn't my first language so forgive me if I make some mistakes...

_ Eventually soulmates meet, for they have the same hiding _ _place_ \- Robert Brault

 

-

 

Stiles hates his life. He taps his fingers on the concrete tiles of the rooftop as he think about the assignment he’s supposed to be writing, about Scott and Allison who are happy together while he hasn’t had one successful relationship, about his dad who’s still in the same state but not close enough, about his one-bedroom apartment with a kitchen that’s too small to properly cook in.

He likes it up here, comes here whenever he’s drunk at 2am and life is shitty or whenever uni gets too hard. It’s  _ his _ rooftop, a hiding spot in a city where it’s so easy to lose yourself in crowds and glamor. 

The stars are unusually bright tonight and it reminds him of Beacon Hills, a small town in the middle of nowhere where you either see stars or clouds and Stiles sighs. He wouldn’t be opposed to seeing either. 

“What are you doing here?” someone asks from behind and Stiles shoots up as if he’s been electrically shocked, eyes wide as he turns around. The guy standing behind him looks tired and intimidating, a look most people wouldn’t be able to pull off even if they were wearing the same leather jacket, and Stiles swallows.

“This is my spot,” he simply says and lies down again, the tiles uncomfortably hard and cold against his back. 

He doesn’t open his eyes when the guy sits down next to him even though he wants to. The silence between them is heavy, and Stiles shifts a bit to stop it, the sound of denim against stone too loud and grating against his ears. 

The guy sighs and stands up and sits down again, and when Stiles opens his eyes he’s sitting on his leather jacket, his elbows on his knees. The muscles of his biceps strain against his shirt and Stiles shuts his eyes before he says anything inappropriate. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks Stiles, his voice surprisingly gentle and soft, a stark contrast with the leather jacket and the stubble. Stiles isn’t sure if he minds it. 

“What does it look like,” Stiles murmurs in response, the night air chilly against his skin. He pulls his jacket tighter against him, an effort to shield him both from the cold and from the guy next to him. 

“Me too,” the guy sighs and Stiles smiles a bit as he hears the click of a lighter and smells the cigarette smoke. 

-

He’s rushing down the stairs, almost tripping over his feet as he tries to keep the contents of his messenger bag from spilling out. He pushes his glasses further up his nose as he runs around the corner, not looking where he’s going or if there’s someone in his way. 

Papers fly up around him as he lands on the ground, the muscles in his torso aching from running into the guy standing in front of him. He scrambles around, glasses almost falling off his face as he tries to stuff his notes back into his bag. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going-” 

A hand lands on his shoulder, stilling his frantic movements and burning through the three layers of shirts he’s wearing. The guy bends down to grab some of his notes and give them back to Stiles and Stiles swallows. He’s seen that jacket somewhere before, the stubble, the arms…

“You’re-” he begins, sputtering, his cheeks flushing bright red. 

The guy looks over at him and smirks, shoving more of Stiles’ notes into his hands. Stiles is frozen, blinking dumbly at the guy as he pushes his glasses back up again. The guy smirks again and stands up, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walks away.

“See you around,” Stiles calls after him and the guy smiles over his shoulder. 

It takes Stiles two minutes to remember he was running late for class.

-

 

Ramen used to be one of his favorite things to eat despite the meager nutritious value, but after eating it for two weeks straight he practically begged Lydia to take him out and Lydia had eagerly - too eagerly - obliged. 

They’re sitting together, Stiles stuffing sushi in his mouth as Lydia watches him, her lips pursed in distaste. He gulps down his water and sighs, patting his stomach as he leans back in his chair. 

“You are a goddess, Lydia Martin,” he smiles contently. Lydia merely blinks and puts a piece of maki in her mouth before fixing him with an assessing stare. He shifts in his seat, waiting for Lydia to start talking.

She smirks, her blood-red lips looking frighteningly predatory before she says, “I heard someone moved into the apartment underneath yours.” 

Stiles blinks, caught in the process of shoving a California roll into his mouth. The apartment beneath him has been vacant for at least the two years he’s been living in the building, and he hasn’t heard or seen any new tenants. The only new person he met was the guy on the rooftop and  _ oh _ .

“I didn’t know that,” he says after he’s swallowed the California roll. Lydia raises an eyebrow, the look in her eyes disbelieving. 

“You’re bullshitting me, Stilinski,” she said, sipping some of her green tea, her nails tapping impatiently against the glass. 

“I’m not,” he blushes. “I met him, I just- I didn’t know he was new.” 

Lydia smiles again, flashing her white teeth at him and Stiles slumps down in his chair. He knew he shouldn’t have come the moment she easily agreed to take him out. 

“You met him? Allison told me he’s hot.” 

Stiles swallows, thinking back to how the guy looked on the rooftop - leather jacket, gentle voice, bulging muscles - and looks away from Lydia. 

“He is.” 

-

The next time he gets to the roof, the guy’s already sitting there, leaning back on his arms to look up at the sky. He stands in the doorway for a second, thinking back to Lydia and the greedy glint in her eyes, the way the guy smirked at him when Stiles ran into him. Against all reason, Stiles sits down next to him and the guy doesn’t look disturbed.

There isn’t much to see besides the glow of the street lamps and the taxis that drive through the streets, but the guy looks fascinated. Stiles tries not to look at him too much, but knows he’s failed when the corner of the guy’s mouth quirks up. 

“What’s your name?” Stiles blurts out, his cheeks heating up as the guy’s eyes snap to him. “Just- I figured if we were going to keep meeting like this I might as well know your name.” 

He must look an idiot, arms waving around as he looks anywhere but the guy, but the guy just smirks and says, “Derek,” before grabbing a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket. 

“Derek,” Stiles echoes, trying the feel of it on his tongue. The name fits him, Stiles decides. “I’m Stiles.” 

Derek raises an eyebrow at him as he lights the cigarette, the smell of smoke permeating the air between them. Stiles blushes and follows the curls of smoke with his eyes before they disappear.

“Don’t ask,” he says. Derek smirks again and shrugs, turning back to look at the city beneath them.

Stiles thinks the comfortable silence between them should’ve been his first clue. 

-

Every day, Stiles thanks God that Scott, Allison and he live in the same building. He’s not sure what he would’ve done if they weren’t there to listen to him ramble and feed him something other than take out. 

Today really isn’t one of those days. 

Allison opens the door, hugging him before pulling him into their apartment. She smiles sweetly - too sweetly - and flashes her dimples at him before shoving him onto the couch. Sitting down opposite from him, she asks, “How’ve you been?” 

Stiles shrugs, his leg bouncing up and down - a nervous habit. “Same old, same old I guess.” 

“That’s good,” she smiles again and Stiles swallows. He doesn’t know why all the women in his life are so terrifying. “I heard someone saw you on the rooftop with the new guy.” 

He chokes on his breath, coughing as the air slides down to his stomach. Allison stands up and pats him on the back, and Stiles glares at her. He doesn’t know who told her, but if he finds them he’ll kill them. 

“There’s nothing going on between Derek and me,” he tells her when he’s stopped dying. Allison’s face lights up and he contemplates jumping out the window. 

“Derek, huh? You two are on a first-name basis now?” 

Stiles opens his mouth to defend himself but Scott saves him by barging in with three cans of beer. He stands up and gives Scott a bro hug before sitting down, expecting Scott to ask what they’re talking about, to maybe defend Stiles. 

Instead, Scott sits down next to Allison and looks at him innocently before saying, “I heard you have a new boyfriend.”

He groans, dropping his head into his hands, rubbing them over his face in frustration. Scott’s supposed to take his side, he’s known Scott a lot longer than Allison has. Unfortunately, the power of boners is stronger. Stiles glares at him.

“Derek’s not my boyfriend.” 

Scott raises an eyebrow - not as terrifying as Lydia, but he comes pretty close - and says, “Come on, Stiles, you don’t even let me on the rooftop!” 

“That’s because you’re annoying!” Stiles shouts, waving his arms around to illustrate his point. “Besides, I didn’t ‘let’ Derek on the roof, he- he was just  _ there _ .” 

Allison smiles again and squeezes Scott’s thigh before Scott can say anything. Stiles resists the urge to groan, he knows she’ll be texting Lydia the moment he’s gone. 

“I believe you,” she says. “How’s your Gender Studies class coming along?”

-

His favorite place to go to besides the roof of his apartment building is the little bakery on the corner of Gayley and Kinross Avenue. The coffee and pastries are amazing, and there’s always space to quietly sit and read, buried in a comfortable chair. 

Ash, the barista and his friend, always has his coffee made before Stiles can even tell them his order, and they’ve offered multiple times to help him out with some Gender Studies projects. 

They’re also the person Stiles talks to when he’s crushing on someone, which is how they end up in the corner of the coffee shop, Stiles sipping his cappuccino while lamenting on his friends involvement in his life. 

Ash smiles at him while tucking their hair behind their ear, and says, “It sounds like you hate that Derek guy. Really, he sounds awful.” 

The bell rings as someone opens the door and Ash smirks at him before walking away. Stiles glares at their back until they disappear around a corner, and he takes a bite of his croissant. He resists the urge to groan. The croissants here are orgasmic. 

“What’s your name?” he hears Ash ask the customer. There’s a bit of silence before the customer says, “Derek.” 

Stiles chokes on his croissant, flushing red. There’s no way it’s  _ his _ Derek, but it might be. He gulps down his cappuccino in an attempt to stop coughing. 

When Ash comes back, they’re smirking. Stiles glares at them and says, “Oh shut up, there’s no way that’s the Derek I was talking about.”

Ash just smirks. “Leather jacket, killer eyebrows and stubble to die for?” 

Stiles groans and slumps in his chair, letting his eyes fall closed. Ash pats his arm in a gesture of comfort, but Stiles can feel the smugness radiating off them. 

“Well,” Ash smirks. “At least he’s hot.” 

-

Stiles hasn’t been to the roof in two weeks. It’s the longest he’s ever gone without sitting there, but he doesn’t dare to actually go. He knows he should go, he can’t stay away this long without going insane. Lydia actually asked him if he was okay, Allison comes by every day, Scott looks at him with pity in his eyes. 

He takes a deep breath before opening the door, closing his eyes and steeling himself for the sight of Derek. He cracks an eye open, heart pounding with adrenaline and anxiety, but there’s no sign of Derek anywhere, just Stiles and concrete tiles. He tells himself he isn’t disappointed, but his shoulders slump forward as he steps onto the roof.

The city’s busy, it’s always busy and Stiles missed it. Missed seeing all the people walking around, taxis driving aimlessly, waiting for customers. He feels strangely at home here, in between the stars and the people. 

“Where’ve you been.” 

He yelps, turning around to look at the person standing behind him, his chest flaring as he realizes it’s Derek. Derek’s watching the taxis, hands in his pockets looking betrayed and vulnerable for a second before he turns his attention to Stiles.

The look on Derek’s face is angry and Stiles swallows, his fingers tapping against his hip. Derek looks down at them before fixing his attention back on Stiles and Stiles want to scream. 

“I was.” He waves his hands around in attempt to explain. “Busy.”

Derek raises an eyebrow and tips his head up to look at the sky, eyes dancing from star to star and Stiles can’t look away from him: the broadness of his shoulders beneath the leather jacket, the stubble, the skin of his neck, the curling hair at his nape. He wants to keep Derek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, looking back down. Derek’s eyes snap to him, burning a hole in his skull, like he’s leaving a mark for everyone to see. Stiles flushes.

Derek just shrugs and says, “Do you have a lighter? I forgot mine.” 

Stiles nods and goes to grab his lighter from his pocket, not missing the way Derek’s eyes track the movement before he seems to regain his control and looks away. He pulls the cuffs of his leather jacket down over his wrist and glares at a tile. Stiles has never seen him look more vulnerable. 

“Here you go,” he says as he hands Derek the lighter, their fingers brushing as Derek takes it from him. The contact is fleeting and warm, and Stiles can feel himself blushing. 

“You want one?” Derek asks him when he’s lit his cigarette but Stiles shakes his head. He’s given up smoking a long time ago. 

Derek gives him back his lighter and pulls Stiles down with him, and they watch the city together, the heady smell of smoke curling between them like something warm and promising.

-

He and Scott go out for bowling the next night. It’s their monthly ritual and he usually looks forward to it, but now he contemplates telling Scott he’s ill. He winces: Scott would probably come check on him. 

“I see you went back to the roof,” Scott says as they’re walking down the stairs. Stiles raises an eyebrow and blinks dumbly at him, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

“You look a lot happier,” Scott explains, shrugging his shoulders.

“I did,” Stiles says, shoving his hands into his pockets, fiddling with his lighter. His clothes still smell faintly of smoke, the only proof besides the probably-insane look on his face that last night actually happened. He thinks back to the way Derek’s fingers brushed against his, the comfortable silence as they glimpsed into the lives of others. 

“I presume Derek was there too,” Scott continues. Stiles almost trips over his feet. “He looked a lot less stressed this morning.” 

Stiles glares at him when he’s steadied himself. Scott just smirks and keeps walking, picking up his pace. Stiles runs a bit before falling into pace with him, just like they always have. He hits Scott on the shoulder.

“Don’t look so smug, there’s nothing going on between me and Derek.” 

“You sure?” Scott smirks. “Maybe you can ask him yourself, he’s walking our way.” 

Stiles looks away from Scott to the figure that’s stalking towards them, seeing the dark look on Derek’s face, a few snowflakes caught in his hair and on his leather jacket. Stiles can feel himself flush. 

“Hey Derek,” Scott smiles once Derek comes to a stop in front of them.

“McCall,” Derek says, briefly acknowledging him before fixing his stare on Stiles. Stiles can feel the blush spreading to his neck as Derek shifts his weight from one feet to another. It’s almost as if Derek’s nervous. 

“Hey Derek,” Stiles chokes out, his voice embarrassingly high-pitched. “What’s up?” 

Derek looks at Stiles like he’s lost his mind and grabs his arm, fingers pressing into the skin of Stiles wrist. Stiles winces as he hears the creak of his own bones and Derek’s grip lightens a bit in response, his fingers warm and rough. 

“H- hey buddy, what are you doing?” Stiles asks. Derek just looks at him and holds out his other hand.

“Do you have a pen,” he says, like that explains what he’s doing. Stiles stares at him for a second, he expects Derek to burst out into laughter any time now, but Derek looks dead serious. He grabs around his pockets and hands Derek a pen, and Derek looks relieved before closing his expression off. 

Derek presses the tip of the pen to the skin at Stiles’ elbow and Stiles squirms as Derek start writing something - numbers? - on it. When he’s done, Derek lets him go like Stiles is on fire and shoves the pen back at him. 

“There,” he says gruffly, putting his hands in his pockets. “Now you have my cell number.” 

Stiles stares at him as he leaves, mouth open in disbelief. Scott tries to hold back his laughter, but he fails miserably and bursts into tears the second Derek turns around the corner. Stiles hits his shoulder, probably harder than he should.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, his cheeks burning.

“Still-” Scott gasps. “Still think there’s nothing going on between you two?”

Stiles just walks off, grabbing his phone from his pocket to save Derek in his contacts. 

-

His dad calls him the next day. Stiles presses the ‘accept’ button with shaky fingers and curses Scott for being a filthy, filthy traitor.

“Hi kiddo,” his dad says. “How are you?” 

Stiles grabs a pen and fiddles with it, tapping one end against the table. He shrugs, even though his dad can’t see it. 

“I’m good, I guess. Have you been eating your low-carb food like I told you to?”   


His dad makes a gagging noise and Stiles smiles. He knows Parrish has been sneaking his dad muffins now that he isn’t around to stop him, but he figures he can give his dad a break sometimes. 

“Unfortunately.”  There’s a lull in the conversation and Stiles is about to go on a tangent about Scott and Allison, when his dad clears his throat and says, “So, I heard you have an admirer.”

Stiles groans. When he gets back to Beacon Hills, he’s going to make his dad eat nothing but tofu for a week. 

“I don’t have an admirer,” he says. “We’re just friends.”

“Ah!” his dad says and Stiles can practically hear him smiling. “So you know who I’m talking about.”

“Nice talking to you,” Stiles sighs, pulling the phone away from his ear in a parody of ending the call. “See you later.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” his dad says and Stiles smirks. He’s won this battle. “How are Scott and Allison doing?”

-

Fall might be his least favorite season. The only things it brings are rain and Halloween, and the rain definitely outweighs Halloween at the moment. He’s soaked: the rain went through his shirts and pants, and his Converse squeak horribly with every step he takes. 

He’d forgotten his bus ticket and now he’s paying the price. He sighs down at his bag. His notes are going to be ruined now. 

He’s walking down Camden Avenue when a car squeals to its stop in front of him, splashing water all over him and Stiles has  _ had _ it now. He stalks over to the car, intent on cursing out the driver for getting soaked pedestrians even more soaked, when he notices who’s sitting behind the steering wheel. 

Derek pulls open the door to the passenger side and shouts, “Come on, Stiles, get in the car!” 

Stiles doesn’t have to be told twice and he practically jumps into the car, wincing when his clothes leak water into the leather of the seats. Derek hands him a towel and drives away, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

“S-sorry for soaking your seat,” Stiles says, teeth clattering as he dries himself off with the towel. The car smells like aftershave and smoke and it’s so  _ Derek _ that Stiles shivers with something besides cold. 

He smiles gratefully when Derek turns up the heating and he shrugs off his jacket and plaid shirt. Derek’s eyes roam over his chest, wet shirt sticking to his skin and Stiles flushes. 

“It’s fine,” Derek says and he turns back to the road, squeezing the steering wheel a little too hard, his knuckles turning white. 

Stiles can feel himself falling asleep as their silence drags on, the car heating up until everything is comfortably warm and it feels like the air’s a blanket around him. He burrows into the seat a bit, the leather squeaking as it gives in. 

“You didn’t text me.”

Stiles eyes snap open, looking at Derek’s profile. His jaw’s clenched, but otherwise he looks calm. He flushes when he remembers Derek giving him his number, the way Derek’s fingers felt against his skin. If he’d moved his hand and reached down they’d be  _ so close _ to holding hands. Stiles bites his lip and looks at his own hands, threading his fingers together. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I was going to yesterday, but then my dad called and I forgot and-”

“It’s fine,” Derek bites out, glaring at the car in front of them. Stiles shifts in his seat. “Just- please text me when you get home.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, looking down at the remnants of Derek’s number on his forearm. 

They drive to their apartment in silence.

-

He’s staring at his phone. He knows he promised to text Derek as soon as he got home, but he hasn’t yet under the pretense of showering and putting on his pajamas, and now he’s sitting in his living room, staring at his phone like it holds the answers to all of his problems. 

His hands are shaking as he presses Derek’s contact on his message app, worried that he’ll say something wrong and Derek’ll delete his number immediately.

**You:** hi

He can feel himself panicking, his chest heaving. Oh god, he’s going to mess this up, he’s going to offend Derek and it’s going to horrible and it’ll be his fault-

**Derek:** Stiles?

**You:** yeah

His hands are shaking, his vision blurring and he feels like he’s going to die because this something new, something he hasn’t done before and he’s going mess this up and  _ god _ .

**Derek:** Are you okay?

**You:** i’m fine

**Derek:** Roof, tomorrow 7:30pm? Bring a lighter

**You:** okay

-

Lydia calls him the next day. He was reading a book in the bakery when his phone started ringing and Ash motioned for him to go on as long as he was quiet. 

“Do you have a date?” she ask him in lieu of a greeting. Stiles winces, he knows Scott told Allison and Allison told Lydia. He should really get some new friends.

“No,” he whispers. “We just agreed to meet on the roof at a set time.” 

Lydia squeals and Stiles smiles. She doesn’t often lose her grip on her emotions. 

“So it’s a date! You’re going to let me pick your outfit.”

“It’s not a date!” he shouts hushedly into the receiver, which earns him a glare from Ash. He smiles apologetically at them before fixing his attention on Lydia again. “What’s wrong with plaid?” 

“What isn’t wrong with plaid?” Lydia sighs. He can imagine her pursed lips, the way she’s twirling a lock of hair around her finger. 

“Fine. What time are you coming over?” 

She squeals again. 

-

Stiles wraps his jacket tighter around himself. He knew he should’ve talked Lydia into letting him wear more layers, but she wouldn’t budge and now he’s standing here, on a rooftop in the ice-cold wind. 

Derek isn’t there yet. Stiles checks his phone: it’s only 7:20 so it’s no surprise. He’s a bit early, but Lydia couldn’t handle his nervous fidgeting anymore and told him to just go to the roof already. He’d eagerly agreed with her and ran his fingers through his carefully-styled hair, earning him a stern look and a half-threat. 

His heart’s pounding when he hears the door open, and he barely resists the urge to turn around and look at Derek. The footsteps behind him get louder and closer with each step, and he can feel the nerves flying around in his stomach. Derek comes to a stop behind him, standing so close his chest brushes against Stiles’ back with every exhale. 

“Did you bring a lighter?” Derek asks. His voice is soft, his breath brushing over the skin on Stiles’ neck. Stiles nods, his hair sweeping against Derek’s throat. “Can I borrow it? I lost mine.”

“Sure,” Stiles chokes out. He hands Derek his lighter and almost whimpers when Derek steps away from him to light a cigarette. The click of it echoes through Stiles’ ears. 

He nearly jumps when Derek steps up behind him, fully pressed against Stiles. Stiles lets himself lean back into Derek, the hard muscle of his chest and Derek puts the lighter back in his pocket, fingers brushing over Stiles’ thigh as he releases it. Stiles can feel himself jerk in response and the huff of Derek’s silent laughter skims over the nape of his neck. 

Stiles wants to turn around, wants to pull Derek against him and throw the cigarette to the ground and crush their mouths together until they both run out of breath. He wants to bruise Derek, mark him and wants Derek to return the favor. Instead he stands there, silent, shivering when Derek leans his head on Stiles’ shoulder. 

“Isn’t it pretty,” Derek whispers, his eyes on the setting sun. Stiles swallows and nods, pressing harder against Derek and he feels the corner of Derek mouth tilt up against his neck. 

They stay like that until Derek runs out of cigarettes.

-

The next morning comes with a headache and a frantic knocking on his door. He feels ill, probably because of the lack of sleep. He groans at the loud noises coming from the hallway.

“Coming!” he shouts, his voice raspy from sleep. He quickly puts on his glasses, a shirt and some pants and rubs his eyes before opening the door a crack. “What do you want.” 

Allison’s standing in front of his door, the smile on her face radiant. Stiles would be tempted to shut the door in her face if she wasn’t Lydia’s best friend and her dimples didn’t melt his insides. 

“Stiles! Open the door!” she shouts, pushing the door open and letting herself in, Stiles dumbly blinking after her until he springs into action. “What happened? What did he do? Lydia and I want details, Stilinski!”

She pokes a finger into his chest and he winces, leading her over to the couch. The headache’s only gotten worse now that he’s awake and he really needs an aspirin. Allison looks at him expectantly and he looks longingly at the bathroom.

“I’ll tell you everything in a minute,” he says, his voice nothing more than a whisper. “Just- let me get some aspirin first.” 

The expression on her face softens as she watches him sway towards the bathroom. Stiles smiles gratefully at her and dives into the bathroom, frantically searching through the cupboard. This is all Lydia’s fault.

“Sorry, I’m feeling kinda-” He waves his hands around in aborted movements. “Ill.”

“Lydia?” Allison immediately asks and Stiles nods. She smiles sweetly at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll make her feel guilty. Now,  _ details _ .”

-

An hour after Allison leaves, Scott comes by with some instant chicken noodle soup. Stiles frowns at in distaste but makes some anyway, praying his stomach will be able to handle it. The look on Scott’s face says he wants to ask Stiles something but he’s taking pity on him, but after half an hour of Scott staring at him with puppy eyes Stiles can’t handle it anymore. 

“Whatever you want to ask, ask me.” 

Scott smiles gratefully at him, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. “Lydia’s convinced you didn’t just stand there and smoke. She wants to know what really happened.”

Stiles groans and buries his head in the couch cushion. He can feel the soup churning in his stomach and Scott might have to move away if he doesn’t want to get puked on. 

“If she wants to know so badly she should ask me herself,” he grumbles into the fabric, turning his head to watch Scott. Scott fixes him with a look that tells him he should know better. 

“You know how she gets.”

Stiles moans and turns his head back into the cushion. He knows, but it’s her fault he’s sick and she doesn’t owe him anything right now. If anything, she owes him. He’ll send a cheque to her door. 

-

Apparently he fell asleep and Scott just left. He groans as the light from the lamps hits his eyes and grabs his cell to look at the time. His heart starts pounding as he sees that Derek’s sent him a message.

**Derek:** Are you coming tonight?

Stiles blinks and shakily types out a response, his head spinning. The glare of the phone screen isn’t helping. He should really take another aspirin. 

**You:** can’t. i’m ill

**Derek:** I’ll be over in a minute

He reads the message. Then he reads it again. Pinches himself, and then reads it. Derek doesn’t even know where he lives, but he knows Derek’ll probably ask Scott and Scott, the dirty traitor, will tell Derek. And then Derek will come over. While Stiles is close to puking his brains out. 

He stands up to get another aspirin, the room spinning before he focuses. He quickly opens the door a bit and goes into the bathroom, swallowing two aspirins before lying back down on the couch. 

When Derek knocks on the door, he just says, “The door’s open.”

Derek walks in, leather jacket in one hand and a bunch of cookies in the other. Stiles sits upright, rubbing his eyes and pushing his glasses up his nose. Derek sits on the chair across from him, looking concerned. Stiles smiles tiredly at him.

“Hey,” he croaks and Derek’s eyebrows draw down.

“Hey,” Derek says, his voice soft and guilty. Stiles wants to hug him. “I’m sorry, this was my fault, I never should’ve-” 

“It’s okay.” The words rush out of his mouth before he can take them back. Derek looks down at the plastic bowl of cookies he’s holding. “It’s my friend’s fault, really. She convinced me to not wear my usual five layers.”

Derek looks up, smiling softly and he hands Stiles the cookies. Stiles takes them and sets them down on the coffee table, slumping down onto the couch. He brings his head up to his temple, rubbing it as his headache spikes up again. Derek slides next to him on the couch, looking concernedly down at him. 

“Sorry,” Stiles grunts. “I don’t think I can stomach cookies right now. Did you bake them?” 

Derek nods, his hand awkwardly coming to rest on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles leans into it, permits himself to fall into Derek’s side as Derek moves his arm to rest of Stiles’ shoulders. “I baked them with my niece. She’s four.” 

Stiles snorts and coughs. “I can’t really picture you baking cookies with your four year old niece.”

Derek huffs out a laugh, pulling Stiles more firmly against him. Stiles buries his face in Derek’s chest. It feels nice. 

His eyes slip shut and his breathing evens out as he fully falls into Derek, content to lie with him on the couch. 

-

The next morning, Stiles wakes up on the couch, glasses on the coffee table and no Derek in sight. He stamps down on the disappointment blooming up in his stomach, because he wouldn’t want to lie on the couch with an ill person either. He puts on his glasses and moves to the bathroom to take a piss.

He takes a look at the mirror, expecting to see his own face with bags under his eyes, but not the note that’s taped to his cheek. 

‘ _ Sorry, I had to go to work. Text me when you’re feeling better. - D _ ’

Stiles smiles and folds the note into his pocket. He isn’t nauseous anymore, but the headache’s still there. 

Derek cuddles are better than chicken noodle soup, he thinks to himself.

-

He calls his dad later, when he’s eaten some homemade soup Allison brought over. He’s so very glad Allison’s the love of Scott’s life. 

“Hey dad,” he says, wincing when he hears how weak his own voice sounds. 

“Hey kiddo,” his dad states, his voice concerned. “What’s up?”

Stiles coughs, a harsh sound that’s ripped from his throat. “Nothing I’m just... I’m ill.” 

He hears his dad’s sigh through the receiver. He knows it must be hard on his dad. It always was when Stiles was sick after his mom died. Without her there was no one around to make him soup and read him stories. 

“Now I get to tell you to take care of yourself for a change,” his dad says and Stiles laughs weakly. 

“Hey dad?” he asks when the conversation lulls. His dad hums in his throat. “Remember my admirer?” 

“The one you didn’t want to talk about? What happened? Should I arrest him?” His dad’s voice grows harsher the longer he goes on and Stiles feels something in his chest bloom at his dad’s protectiveness. Perks of being a Sheriff's son, he guesses.

“Nothing,” he quickly says. “Just- I think we might be, y’know, going somewhere?”

His dad laughs, a small relieved sound and Stiles smiles in response.

-

After another day of sleeping, the headache’s completely gone. The first thing he does is text Derek, his heart pounding in his chest. He’s nervous to see Derek. 

**You:** i’m feeling a lot better

**Derek:** Meet me on the roof in thirty?

Stiles smiles. Of course Derek wants to meet on the roof. He walks over to his bedroom and grabs a few jackets and plaid shirts out of his closet. Lydia won’t stop him this time.

**You:** i’ll wear extra layers this time

**Derek:** Don’t

He flushes when he sees Derek’s response and stubs his toe against the bed. He curses and jumps around on one foot, tripping over a pair of boxers lying on the ground and falling on the bed. He groans into his pillow.

He hopes this isn’t an indication of what’ll happen with Derek. 

-

Derek’s already on the roof when Stiles gets there. His back’s turned to Stiles and Stiles smiles as he smells the smoke wafting through the air. He sits down next to Derek, their shoulders brushing.

“Hey,” Stiles says and Derek smiles. “The cookies were great.” 

Derek looks over at him, sees the lack of a jacket and smirks. “Thanks.” 

Stiles shifts his weight, his leg bouncing up and down and he sees Derek look down at it before looking back to Stiles’ face. Stiles flushes and watches the crowd of moving people on the streets. He shivers as the wind picks up, goosebumps spreading over his arms. 

Derek moves over, shrugging off his leather jacket and Stiles frowns at him. Derek just smirks and hands Stiles his leather jacket, laying it on Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles flushes down to his neck and turns back, the smell of smoke and aftershave enveloping him in a blanket of warmth.

“Thanks,” he chokes out, his fingers tapping against the tiles. Derek doesn’t look at him, doesn’t say anything, but he brushes his fingers against Stiles’. Stiles turns his hand up, his stomach swimming with nerves as Derek threads their fingers together. 

Derek’s hand is warm and dry against his and Stiles squeezes it. Derek starts rubbing his thumb over Stiles knuckles and it makes Stiles feel warmer than Derek’s leather jacket ever could. 

-

Lydia calls him a day later to apologize for making him ill. Stiles tells her not to worry about it even though she probably should, and she goes straight on to Derek. 

“Stiles, he let you fall asleep on him! How stupid are you?” she hisses. Stiles flinches in response. He doesn’t want to be let down again, he doesn’t want to get his hopes up. 

“Still, that doesn’t mean he likes me. Maybe he’s straight, I don’t know!” 

He left out the handholding for a reason. Lydia’d immediately come over to punch him first, then make him ask Derek out if she knew. At least this way he can still pretend Derek doesn’t like him. 

“Stilinski, you might be the densest guy I’ve ever known and I’m dating Jackson. Please do something about the UST thing you guys have going on.” 

“Derek and I don’t have anything going on, okay!” he shouts into the receiver, because he’s so sick of people messing in his life. They should just leave him alone, let him figure it out himself,  _ god _ . 

Lydia’s oddly quiet after that and Stiles looks around, chest heaving. The entire floor is looking at him, eyes wide and voices hushed as they whisper to themselves. Stiles almost misses the man by the staircase, who’s wearing a leather jacket and has a stubbled jaw and-

“Shit,” he hisses and hangs up on Lydia. Derek’s running up the stairs, away from Stiles and Stiles runs after him, because that’s not what he meant,  _ dammit _ .

Stiles is panting by the time he gets to the rooftop,  _ their  _ rooftop and frantically looks around for Derek, praying he’s actually there and hasn’t left. 

Derek’s just sitting there, cigarette between his lips as he stares out over the city, feet dangling over the edge. The sun frames him, light bouncing off his leather jacket and making him look surprisingly fragile for someone who looks like the kind of guy your parents advise you to stay away from. 

The wind blows through his hair as Derek shifts and Stiles fingers tremble as he tries to keep himself from grabbing and  _ taking _ Derek, making sure he stays and never gets hurt. 

Instead, Stiles turns around and walks away. 

-

He doesn’t see Derek for a month. He tells himself he doesn’t miss Derek, doesn’t miss the way they’d sit together, the way the smoke curled around them like an unspoken promise and the way Derek’s fingers felt against his. 

He really doesn’t miss him.

There’s no denying it when the cereal box he’d been holding drops to the ground, slipping through his fingers as Derek smiles down at a little girl and gives her a piece of chocolate, his face soft and open as she licks the chocolate off his fingers afterwards.

He hears, “Sir, excuse me?” coming from somewhere vaguely beside him, but all he can see is Derek as he turns around and grabs strawberry jelly from one of the shelves, the little girl squealing in delight as he shows her. 

“Sir, are you okay?” 

He focuses on it this time, sees a young boy with blond curls looking at him concernedly, the Wallmart shirt he’s wearing dirty with coffee stains. He manages a nod and a weak smile, saying, “I’m sorry for making a mess.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” the boy smiles as he bends down to clean it up. 

When he turns back around to grab another cereal box, he finds Derek looking at him, a shuttered expression on his face. Stiles swallows and waves, but Derek just glares at him and turns away, directing his attention back at the little girl in front of him.

Stiles squashes the disappointment he feels down. He doesn’t miss Derek, he really doesn’t.

-

He sleeps over at Scott and Allison’s for a few days afterwards. He might feel like a third wheel and he might get pitying looks, but at least he’s not so alone anymore. 

He misses Derek. He misses the way Derek would look at him, the cigarette smoke, their meetings on the roof. 

He doesn’t even know Derek and he misses him.

Stiles is tempted to buy a new couch. It reminds him of Derek,  _ everything  _ reminds him of Derek. He can’t bear to see Scott and Allison or Lydia and Jackson or literally anyone with a significant other without feeling like someone’s crushed his chest.

He wonders if this is maybe what heartbreak feels like. 

After a week Danny takes pity on him and asks him out to a night club. He goes out of obligation but he absolutely doesn’t want to go. He has no desire to see people in love and lust making out when all he wants is to hug Derek and beg him to take Stiles back. 

The music’s way too loud and Danny’s glances are too pitying. After awhile, Danny runs off with the supermarket employee who cleaned up Stiles’ mess and Stiles is sitting by himself, a bottle of lukewarm beer twisting between his fingers. 

No one pays attention to the guy who’s moping in a corner, and Stiles isn’t counting on it. He’s content to sit on his own. The only person who tried to buy him a drink was snarked at and no one tried afterwards. Stiles smiles. There’s a kind of irony to rejecting others when you’ve just been rejected, the kind that tugs at his heart and makes him ache when he remembers the look on Derek’s face.

Someone sits down next to him but Stiles doesn’t look up. He keeps his gaze fixed on the brown bottle and chugs down some beer. It slides warmly down his throat. The person next to him coughs and Stiles looks over in irritation. It’s dark, too dark to properly see who’s sitting next to him. 

“Look man, I want to be alone for a while and if you can’t handle it it’s best you just go.”

The person next to him laughs and a manicured hand lands on his shoulder. A woman, then. Stiles doesn’t really care. The only person he wants is Derek but he fucked himself over on that one. 

“Why do you want to be alone?” the woman asks. Stiles snorts.

“I’m sorry, I’m not really jumping to share right now. But if you really want to know, it’s because I fucked any chance I had with the only guy I ever genuinely fell in love with. Now could you please fuck off?” 

The woman smiles and moves away and Stiles watches her leave. Her face looks familiar and he thinks he should probably recognize her, but before Stiles can get a better look at her she’s gone. 

Whatever, Stiles thinks as he finishes his beer. It’s not like it mattered anyway.

-

He swallows as he looks at the steel door. It’s been a few months since he’s been on the roof and he’s missed it. He presses his palm against it, his heart pounding as he opens it. Everything looks exactly the same, the stars shining down on the people below him and Stiles sighs in relief. 

Derek isn’t there and Stiles is almost happy for it. He doesn’t know what he’d do if Derek were there, and he doesn’t really want to find out. 

He steps forward, lying down on the cold tiles and sighs in relief. The stars are pretty, tiny lights to guide people to places they’ve never been before. It’s calming, watching them again. He’s missed it.

His breath catches when someone sits down to him. He closes his eyes, refusing to look up at Derek. Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes and he bites his lip in an attempt to stop them from falling.

“Hey,” Derek says, his voice soft and Stiles shakes his head. “Hey, Stiles, look at me.”

Stiles turns his head away, lying down on his side, away from Derek. He doesn’t want to see Derek. No matter how much he’s missed him, Stiles doesn’t want to see Derek. 

He winces when Derek turns him back around and struggles, ripping his arm from Derek’s grip. He can’t hold them in anymore and the air fills with quiet sobs as the tears start falling. He can feel Derek sigh as he turns Stiles over.

Derek straddles Stiles’ hips and pins down both his wrists to stop him from struggling and Stiles squirms, turning to bury his face in his arm. Derek’s hand comes up to wipe the tears from his cheek, the touch soft and reverent.

“Look at me,” Derek whispers. Stiles opens his eyes. Derek’s leaning over him, his face vulnerable and guilty. Stiles wants to punch him and hug him and kiss him at the same time. Derek’s thumb keeps rubbing against his cheek, down to his lips and Stiles whimpers.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, looking away from Stiles for a second. “God, I’m so sorry.”

Stiles smiles, butting his forehead against Derek’s to make him look at Stiles. He can see the tears in Derek’s eyes and he wants to make them disappear. 

“S okay,” he chokes out. “We were both stupid.” 

Derek huffs out a laugh and leans forward, closing the distance between them. His lips are surprisingly soft and Stiles presses closer, tugs Derek onto him, making their teeth clash together. 

Derek laughs in between kisses, and Stiles smiles back. 

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, that was it! Please let me know what you thought of it? Have a lovely day ^^
> 
> (Also, come hang out with me on [Tumblr](http://demisexualhale.tumblr.com)! I fanboy about Sterek over there ^^)


End file.
